


I'll Be Home For Christmas

by wintersky (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, First Kiss, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Lonely!John, M/M, Painfully un-original title, Post-Reichenbach, Reunion, Too many italics and semicolons as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/wintersky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Please excuse the title; the unorigininality of it physically hurts me. Also, I only rated it Teen for alcohol use, but otherwise it's pretty G-rated.</p><p>***</p><p>John is all alone, drowning his sorrows for the second Christmas Eve in a row since Sherlock's fall, and being tortured by Christmas love songs (curse you, Bing Crosby) until a surprise visitor makes it all worth it.</p><p>***</p><p>(I am unbelievably awful at writing summaries and I apologize.)</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Home For Christmas

John sighs.

It is Christmas Eve- the first since Sherlock's death- and he is sitting alone, Christmas music on the radio and a glass of whisky in his hand. Outside, snow falls gently, and the halo thrown by the streetlight illuminates the perfect flakes so beautifully that John wants to cry. How he wishes Sherlock were here; he is so lonely, so empty, so....incomplete without him.

He drains the last of his whisky and suddenly hears the opening notes of a new song on the radio- Bing Crosby's "I'll be Home for Christmas." And as the familiar tune fills his ears, our stolid, unwavering army doctor begins to cry, silent sobs wracking his body and hot tears coursing down his face.

Because the one person he wants to spend Christmas- _no, every day_ -with will never be home again.

***

**One Year Later**

***

It's Christmas Eve again, and John is in much the same position as last year, except the whisky has been replaced with half a bottle of rum (most of which is gone by this point). It's snowing hard outside, but the flat is warm and cozy, with a fully-decked-out Christmas tree in the corner, complete with presents (this all courtesy of Mrs Hudson) and a fire crackling pleasantly in the hearth. There are fairy lights strung up round the windows (Mrs Hudson again; _still_ not the housekeeper...) and, once again, Christmas carols on the radio....and John cannot believe this, it's that infernal song again.

_I'll be home for Christmas,_  
 _You can plan on me._  
 _Please have snow and mistletoe,_  
 _And presents on the tree._

_Christmas Eve will find me,_  
 _Where the love-light gleams._  
 _I'll be home for Christmas,_  
 _If only in my dreams....._

As the next verse starts, John groans and sinks further into his armchair, wanting to get up and turn it off but unable to find the strength. So he sits as if pinned there, listening miserably. But suddenly, he frowns- it is not Bing Crosby singing the last verse.

This new voice is rich, deep, dark chocolate; unmistakable. John stands and turns to the door, hardly daring to hope....and finds the one person in the world with a voice like that.

"I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams," finishes Sherlock Holmes.

He stands in the doorway- John hadn't heard him come up the stairs- beautiful and elegant as ever, blue scarf tucked into long dark coat, snow dusting thick black curls, and those verdigris eyes piercing John to his very core.

John drops his rum; the glass shatters but he doesn't seem to notice. His gaze is fixed on the man in front of him, a man whom he believed he'd never see again. "Sherlock," he breathes, his voice cracking. "Sherlock..."

The detective closes the space between them, three long strides bringing them together- _together at last._ "Merry Christmas, John," he says softly, his rich low voice a velvet caress. He leans down.

Their lips meet- _finally, finally-_ saying all the things they never could.

When they break apart, John thinks _All that's missing is the mistletoe_ , and smiles absurdly. "What is it?" asks Sherlock.

John doesn't answer; instead, he kisses Sherlock again, still hardly believing that this is happening.

And he finds that the piece he has been missing is back in place, right where it was always meant to be.


End file.
